


Little Zombie Man or After 17 Years...and a Little ole Zombie Apocalypse

by MostlySane



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amoral Character, Cannibalism, Dystopia, F/M, M/M, No Dialogue, POV Third Person, You Have Been Warned, Zombie Apocalypse, casual view of cannibalism, could be perceived as dub-con, kinda not!fic-ish, really underage here folks, sex with zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 04:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostlySane/pseuds/MostlySane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a zombie, but one day he meets someone special. Can he learn to be human again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Zombie Man or After 17 Years...and a Little ole Zombie Apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MizErie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizErie/gifts).



> Hey, I figured, with all this zombie shit springing up all over the damn place, I needed to make one as well. So, I hope you enjoy my strange little take on zombies, and please be kind, cuz I wrote this whole thing in less that an hour, so it's probably crap. But at least I tried to get the grammar right!
> 
> This work is gifted to MizErie, because her stories rock, and I know that this really isn't her fandom, but...I just wanted to give her this small token of my appreciation for her sheer awesomeness. Please check her out!

Being a zombie was no fun, Stiles knows. He used to to think it might be fun, cuz nothing scared a zombie, but, no, it was no fun.  
There was the greenish skin, the vacant expression, and the dangling body parts, which were really not sexy, and now how is he supposed to get laid?  
Not that he could, you know, because his blood had dried in his veins and arteries, so boners, and, in consequence, boning, were out of the question. But it was the principle of the thing!  
So yeah, being a zombie was not a generally awesome thing to be. Especially on nights when the full moon showed through the clouds, and maybe he started to feel queasy, mentally, cuz, you know, his stomach muscles were as dead as the rest of him, when he thought about all the delicious brains he had eaten. Cuz he's not really sure, but he may have eaten Allison.  
Or maybe not. Could have been just another brunette with well covered psycho eyes, but if it was her...what a bummer. Scott would never forgive him now. And Scott was alive, he knew, and he wasn't undead either, cuz, apparently, werewolves are awesome that way.  
It's enough to make him wish he had take Creepy Uncle Peter's offer, cuz werewolves beat the shit out of zombies, both literally and not.  
But, insert quote about wishes and beggars and horses, or whatever, cuz there was no going back. He was a zombie now, through and through. Or so he thought. But then, he saw her.  
It's not that Stiles had never eaten a child before, Child brains were nice and soft, sweet and pink and tasting of new, tender things. Not as interesting, sure, but the energy certainly lasted longer. So yes, he knew the taste of a child's gray matter, and it was a delicious thing.  
So why had he no wish to devour this one? It's not that he isn't hungry, because he is. His last kill was somewhere in Omaha, and he's back in California now, so, damn right he's famished.  
But this little girl with her red curls and her weird green/brown/blue/what-the-fuck-color-is-that -anyway eyes and her strangely stylish clothes and her commanding stance, arms akimbo, and ferocious death glare/kicked puppy pout of doom made him stop in his staggering tracks.  
He knew who she was. She could hardly have been anyone else. "Look at me, I am the lovechild of Derek Hale and Lydia Martin" was pretty much engraved on every bit of her. For a moment, his mouth watered; her brains would be exquisite. But still, he stayed himself.  
So, they stood there for a while, looking at each other. He couldn't tell how long, time is weird as a zombie. It slips and twitches and jerks, which, he's pretty sure time is not supposed to do. He thinks, this time, it slipped a bit, stumbled maybe, before catcing balance. Then the girl spoke.  
If there was any doubt he lost it at hearing her speak. Her parentage was clear, and the slight flash of ice blue beta eyes spoke loud and fucking clear. She cussed like a sailor.  
She also called him Puppy, and claimed him as her new pet. He didn't say no, partly because his throat was too dry, and partly because his brain was stuttering, halting, back-firing, trying to bring faculties to bear that hadn't been touched in years, likely.  
So he follows her around. She seems to know where she's going at all times, despite being maybe about 13 years old at the most. She is calm and cool and collected, and her claws are something to be reckoned with.  
He knows from her fighting style that Jackson is still alive. Sometimes she acts too much like a giant reptile for his influence to be gone. He knows from her puppy eyes and the way she keeps her hair, curly and boyish, in a familiar cut, that Isaac is still up and running. It's obvious to him, from how she can do from disconcertingly brash and flirty to quiet and steady that Erica and Boyd are not gone yet. But he sees no trace of Scott in her.  
It doesn't take long for her to be ambushed by a murder of zombies, their leader clearly a former cop, unless he stole the tattered shreds of his uniform from someone else. But it was unlikely; zombies didn't care much for clothes. He's pretty sure he was naked when he first met her.  
Anyway, they attack, and she fights like the pro she was raised to be, but this is a big group, about twenty, and they keep piling on her. He stands there, hands in the pockets of the too tight jeans she had given him.  
She turns her head and snarls at him. "Help me" her flashing eyes demand. So he does.  
He is quicker than most zombies, he knows, and he is smarter, cuz he brain stutters less these days, keeps its balance more. So he helps her win the battle, and it goes from there.  
She rarely hides from zombies any more, using him as bait to pull them in, then ambushing them, using their own technique.  
He learns she is gaining a name for herself, when he hides around the few and far between human bars, hearing the people swap stories. He also learns her name. Vanessa. His mother's name. He has found Scott's mark on the girl.  
He also finds himself...different. He speaks sometimes, with slow halting words, which are easier when he has wet his throat with otherwise unnecessary water. He allows her to stitch him back together, and sew patches of leather and canvas over the holes where bites have been taken out. He bathes now, when he can, and is fully dressed, even if there are a few blood spatters here and there.  
He even eats less brains, not that he was a glutton before, and on the night she gives him a dead rabbit's brains, he says nothing, just slurps the bland, stiff goo down.  
And another night, she turns him over, onto his back, and removes her pants and underwear. She want him to stick his fingers into her, and he does, cuz that is what he does.  
She is warm inside, he knows, and wet. He's not sure if he was able to differentiate those things months ago. And that's another thing. he knows the time now. And he knows the touch of a woman, because no one would ever call Vanessa a girl. Ever.  
So he touches her, does as she asks. She gets off, and pats his head, and calls him a good Puppy. He thinks maybe she loves him.  
But then, she finally gets to where she was going. Home. It's still Beacon Hills, and he realizes he caught her at the beginning of her quest; they must have taken a curving trail that would bring them back.  
She takes him to the old Hale house, refurbished and clean, surrounded by barbed wire. He sees vehicles in the compound, the Camaro, Scott's mom's old car, and a beaten, bashed old Jeep that makes the hole where his heart used to be throb a little.  
She takes a deep breath, grabs his hand, and pulls him into the house.  
They are all there, the same and yet different. He sees some new wounds, both physical and not, since the last time he was here. Scott looks droopy, half dead, deader even, than Stiles, and he knows that it was Allison that he ate. He looks to the others.  
He would be surprised, if his emotions were more clear, that Lydia still seems to be with Jackson, and he wonders about Vanessa, briefly.  
He see all of them, remembers their faces from maybe 17 years ago. It's been a long time.  
They exclaim over seeing him, half overjoyed, half wary, and Vanessa explains him to them, calls him Puppy again. So she didn't know.  
Then it's their turn to explain him to her, and she is shocked, a little guilty, he knows, because the scent of her on his fingers has only just faded. Then they want him to explain.  
He speaks a little, and asks for water when he feels his throat begin to dry again. They are surprised, he knows, because what zombie drinks water? But they fetch it for him, and he tells what parts of the story he wants to, and keeps what he wants to himself. And then he asks about Vanessa.  
They are comfortable in telling him the truth, he sees. Jackson's child would become a kanima, and they could allow no such thing, but a child was the dream of the whole pack, and with Allison dead and Erica infertile, they had little choice. Derek bred Lydia, for a healthy child, beautiful and fierce and dangerous.  
He think maybe that Derek looks at him strangely when he say this. But no one says anything, and when it gets dark out, they head for bed. Derek takes his hand, and leads him out, not out of the barbed wires, still inside the compound.  
He asks Stiles if he is still a zombie. He tells him that he doesn't know what he is any more. He tells Stiles he still loves him, that he never stopped loving him, and he never stops regretting that he never told him before. Stiles tells him that he...feels something for him.  
He takes what he can, nodding, and then pushing Stiles down and mounting him. He still can't pop a boner, but his prostate is still in place, and it feels good, comfortable, warm, and shivery, and Derek huffs and grunts and takes his pleasure.  
When it's finished, they lay in the onion grass, looking up at the stars. Derek takes his hand, connects them together.  
Stiles thinks he is still a zombie. But he also knows that he can fool them, can maybe even start to fool himself. And he will.  
Cuz maybe he's still a zombie, maybe not, but this was, is, his pack. He can't hurt them, and they will never hurt him.  
He is home now. After 17 years, he is home.


End file.
